


For Just Because

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holiday Adjacent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: “So,” Dean said, peeling off the label of the bottle while Cas mopped up the remaining egg yolk with his toast. “Finally used your key.”Dean had handed Cas a key six months prior and told him, “Figured someone should have a spare key for emergencies, and Sammy’s three hours away, so. Congrats.” Cas had slid it onto his key ring later on that night, and for six months afterward tried and failed to stop thinking about the intimacy implied in the gesture.“I didn’t think I’d have to use it,” Cas admitted. He felt crumbs on his chin and attempted a half-hearted swipe to get rid of them.Dean handed him a napkin, waved off Cas’s thanks, then scratched his neck. “When I gave the key to you I kind of figured you’d use it for…” He made a vague gesture, but let his sentence trail off.“For?” Cas prodded.“For just because,” Dean mumbled. He wasn’t looking at Cas. “I mean, you’re here half the time anyway.”[Dean's got a hangover, and Cas has a key.]
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 28
Kudos: 503





	For Just Because

**Author's Note:**

> A little late, but Merry Christmas! I hope I have time for at least one more before the end of the year.  
> Just note that this fic is holiday-adjacent. If you want to pretend it isn't a Christmas fic, that's relatively easy. :P

As soon as Cas walked into Dean’s apartment, he spotted evidence of a night gone wrong: a scarf and coat in a wrinkled heap in front of the door, an unlaced boot a few feet away, and its pair following an invisible trail to the bathroom. Cas followed the trail, picking up the items as he went, and took a peek in case Dean had made himself cozy on the bathroom floor after heaving his guts out. 

It was empty.

His eyes moved toward the closed bedroom door just a few feet past the bathroom. He threw Dean’s coat and scarf on the arm of the couch, then, after setting the boots next to Dean’s bedroom door, he delivered a few careful knocks.

There was silence from the bedroom.

He knocked again, a little more forcefully.

A groggy voice answered: “Take it all. Just leave me alone.”

Cas suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Dean, it’s me. You gave me a key, remember? This isn’t a break-in”

“My answer’s the same.”

Cas thought carefully about his next move, but decided eventually, “I’m coming in.”

“Whatever.”

The scene that greeted Cas when he opened the door was about what he expected when he got a sheepish call from Jo earlier that morning telling him that Dean had overindulged at their Christmas party: Dean as a sad, immobile lump under the bedcovers, and only his hair - unwashed, disheveled - peeking out. The sweater and pants on the floor implied to Cas that Dean had shed the rest of his clothes at some point.

“Save the lecture, Cas.” Dean’s voice was muffled but decidedly grumpy.

Cas approached and lifted the covers so he could see Dean’s face. “I think you’ve received enough punishment judging by the state of you.”

Dean squinted up at him and grabbed at the covers. “Dude, it’s cold.”

“Probably because you didn’t bother to turn up the heat when you came in last night. Also you’re practically naked.”

Dean ducked his head back under the covers in response.

“Brought you Christmas gifts,” Cas said, pulling things from his coat pockets. “Antacids and painkillers. I’ll make you some toast to go with it.”

No answer.

“And I’ll turn up the heat.”

Dean just pulled the covers tighter around himself.

Cas rolled his eyes and went about his work.

When Cas came back to Dean’s bedroom, he was sans coat and holding a glass of water and a plate of toast. Dean had hauled himself up into a sitting position, his covers pulled across his lap and over his shoulders. 

He was chewing solemnly on some antacids, his expression grim. “Are we getting old, Cas? I could have sworn I could hold my alcohol better than that.”

Cas put the toast on the nightside table next to the painkillers. He let his silence communicate his answer.

Dean picked up a slice of toast and scowled at it. “Who knew eggnog could fuck with you that much?”

Cas picked up the sweater (Christmas-themed, very rude) and jeans on the floor and tossed it into the basket in the corner. “With Ellen behind the bar, you should have been more careful.”

Dean made a disgruntled noise of agreement, then lifted the toast to his mouth. Every movement looked painful.

Cas dug around in Dean’s drawers for fresh clothes. “Are you going to shower, or do you enjoy the stench of vomit and sweat?”

There was silence from behind Cas, during which Dean probably gave himself a good sniff. “Shower’s probably a good idea,” he eventually mumbled.

“How’s the headache?” Cas asked, tossing an outfit on the bed. 

“Bad,” Dean admitted. He struggled to swallow his toast, wincing when he finally managed it. “My stomach’s worse though.” He touched a hand to his abdomen, bare under the blanket that was draped across his shoulders. 

Not for the first time, Cas had to bite his tongue. Even with his greasy hair and tired eyes, Dean Winchester was beautiful. Cas turned away, always careful. “I’ll start up the shower. Don’t take too long feeling sorry for yourself.”

By the time the water was hot, Dean - still shirtless - was walking slowly into the bathroom, his eyes squinting in the early morning sunlight streaming through the window. He had the clothes Cas picked out for him in one arm. With his free hand, he clapped Cas on the shoulder. “Thanks, dude.”

Cas cast a skeptical gaze at the hand. “Are you feeling alright?” 

Dean swayed a little bit. “It was a long walk.”

Exasperated, Cas put down the toilet lid and led Dean to sit on it. Dean’s skin was hot to the touch, but it still made Cas shiver. He pulled away before Dean noticed. “Will you be fine, or do you need me to scrub your back?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Dean answered anyway, though he had his elbows on his knees and his head hanging. “Maybe when I don’t want to throw up every time I move.” His spine was a long line of bare skin that dared Cas to come closer.

Cas left the bathroom and closed the door behind him without answering. He spent the next five minutes with his hands covering his face.

It was a little more than half an hour when Dean exited the bathroom, looking a little less green and dressed in fresh clothes and a robe. He saw Cas on the armchair and said, “Toast was just as good coming back up as it was going down.”

“I take it you’re feeling better if you’re making jokes about vomit.”

Dean snorted. “Head’s still pounding like a son of a bitch.”

Cas pointed to the dining table. He’d gone to the corner store for some Gatorade while Dean was in the shower. The fresh air had helped clear his head, but the sight of Dean tired and shower-warm made Cas’s throat a little tight. He swallowed down his nerves. “You’re dehydrated. Drink some of that, then go back to bed.”

Dean took his time sipping the first of the bottles while he watched Cas watch him from across the apartment. Cas hadn’t bothered to turn on the TV, so all they could hear was the soft patter of footsteps from the apartment above. The silence was not uncomfortable, but Dean was surveying him oddly between sips of his drink.

“You know you don’t have to be here,” Dean said eventually. He was leaning against the kitchen counter. The meters between them felt like the length of a football field.

“You’d be asleep in your own sweat and vomit it I hadn’t come,” Cas pointed out. He had his fingers curled into his palms and hoped Dean wouldn’t call him out on the obvious tension in his posture. What was it about Dean cast in winter light that made Cas want to burst into flames? Into poetry?

Dean conceded Cas’s point with a tilt of his head after spending a few seconds contemplating it. He continued to take tentative sips of his sports drink. Cas retrieved the other slice of toast from the bedroom and when he made it back across the football-field-length, forced the plate into Dean’s hands. He watched as Dean ate it, his hand hovering at Dean’s back, but not quite touching. Only after he’d eaten did Cas send him back to his bedroom. 

“Yes, Mom,” Dean mocked, but he already sounded a little less nauseous, so Cas didn’t bother getting upset with him.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Cas went to check on his patient and found Dean under the covers. He still looked exhausted, but he seemed at least a little less in pain. His eyes were closed, and the blanket was pulled up to his chest. 

“Thanks for changing the sheets,” he mumbled sleepily.

Cas had been caught up watching the slow rise and fall of Dean’s chest; he jumped when he heard Dean speak. He took a few seconds to stammer, “I - like I said, you’d be stewing in your own fluids if I weren’t here.”

Dean snorted. “Oh, bodily fluids. Keep talking dirty to me.” He shifted onto his side and breathed deeply. His eyes were still closed. “Also, bud, if you’re going to watch me sleep the whole time, you might as well get in the bed.”

For a split second, Cas believed Dean could read his mind. “That’s - I’m not sure - “

“You gonna leave?”

“No.”

“You gonna watch me sleep?”

“Well, yes - or no - “

“Then get in the bed. Trust me, no one wants to wake up to someone watching them from the door.”

Cas’s stomach was a mess of knots. He had imagined himself in Dean’s bed more times than he’d care to admit, had thought once or twice that there was a chance of it actually happening one day, but he’d never thought that it would be quite so soon.

Heart in his throat, he walked to the far side of the bed and - very slowly, as silently and carefully as he could manage - slipped under the covers. The bed was already warm, and in contrast to earlier, the space between their bodies now seemed like far too little. If Cas shifted over just a little bit, if he reached out his hand just a few inches… but no. He shoved that thought down. Determined, he locked his hands over his stomach and stared up at the ceiling fan. 

Eventually, after a long silence, Dean murmured, “Thanks for coming over, Cas.”

Despite himself, Cas turned to look, but the back of Dean’s head gave nothing away. “Nowhere else I’d rather be,” he replied, though it was perhaps a beat too belated to sound natural. In the near-silence, the truth was louder than even the heartbeat in his ears.

Dean didn’t answer. Cas turned away. For many long minutes after and until he fell asleep, he could hear Dean’s breaths in the winter quiet.

Waking up in Dean’s bed was disorienting. The mattress was firmer than Cas’s, and the pillow lumpier. The blanket over his torso was also softer than he was used to, and he indulged in the luxuriousness for a few seconds. Noises from outside the bedroom told Cas that Dean had left him alone in bed, and though it had just been a nap that just so happened to take place in the same bed, Cas couldn’t help but feel a little abandoned. 

He shoved that feeling away and sat up before he started feeling too sorry for himself. He ignored the way the scent of Dean’s laundry detergent clung to him as he left the warmth of the bed, and he definitely ignored the picture on Dean’s desk of the two of them - two years ago, Sammy’s wedding, Dean’s arm around Cas’s shoulders, both of them in suits, both of them mid-laugh - propped up against a framed photo of Mary. He left the room and shut the door firmly behind him.

He’d hoped to have left his carefully-kept wishes locked safely in the bedroom, but he looked up upon shutting the door and found Dean at the stove, looking like every dream of domestic bliss he’d ever had, except also in a robe and fuzzy bunny slippers. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean said, setting a plate on the dining table. It was bacon. 

“I’m surprised your appetite’s returned,” Cas said, swallowing the lump in his throat. He took a seat at the table.

“It hasn’t,” Dean said, looking up at Cas through his eyelashes as he placed some toast down. “This is for you.”

Heat climbed up Cas’s jaw. “That’s not necessary - “

Dean set a mug in front of Cas and poured him some coffee. “You spent half your day cleaning up after me; I think you’re entitled to a meal.” He turned back to the stove. “I know it’s past noon but I figured you’d appreciate breakfast since you missed it. Eggs in five.”

The meal was perfect. The toast was a little on the charred side, and maybe the bacon was a little too crispy for Cas’s taste, but he ate it all in Dean’s apartment while Dean watched from the seat opposite him, and Cas found he had nothing to complain about. 

Cas looked around as he ate. The apartment hadn’t been decorated much for Christmas, but Dean had put out a cookie jar that looked like Santa on the kitchen counter. Cas wondered how much heckling it would take to get Dean to make a stop at a hardware store for some lights and a proper tree. 

“So,” Dean said eventually, peeling off the label of a Gatorade bottle while Cas mopped up the remaining egg yolk with his toast. “Finally used your key.” A frown at the edge of his mouth spoke of his lingering hangover. 

Dean had handed Cas a key six months prior and told him, “Figured someone should have a spare key for emergencies, and Sammy’s three hours away, so. Congrats.” Cas had slid it onto his keyring later on that night, and for six months afterward tried and failed to stop thinking about the intimacy implied in the gesture.

“I didn’t think I’d have to use it,” Cas admitted. He felt crumbs on his chin and attempted a half-hearted swipe to get rid of them. 

Dean handed him a napkin, waved off Cas’s thanks, then scratched his neck. “When I gave the key to you I kind of figured you’d use it for…” He made a vague gesture, but let his sentence trail off.

“For?” Cas prodded.

“For just because,” Dean mumbled. He wasn’t looking at Cas. “I mean, you’re here half the time anyway.”

Cas had to sit with it for a few moments, but Dean’s meaning finally sunk in. “You want me around,” he translated, watching Dean’s face for confirmation. 

Dean stood up and took Cas’s plate. “If you think I mind having you around, you haven’t been paying attention.” He was turning away, but Cas saw the flush creeping up his cheeks. 

The significance of the moment fell like a boulder in Cas’s stomach. For years, he’d wondered if there were something more to Dean’s feelings for him - if the lingering touches and looks and laughter were consequences of those feelings - but Cas had always been careful never to push, because nothing was worth losing Dean as a friend, especially not the barest, most remote possibility that Dean wanted Cas back in that way.

“But what if I - what if you have… company?” he asked slowly. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

Dean was rinsing Cas’s plate. It took a few seconds. When he was finished, he turned around and wiped his hands on a towel, watching the movement of his own hands intently. His eyebrows were furrowed. “You wouldn’t interrupt anything,” he said eventually, then met Cas’s gaze. His eyes were determined. “So come over whenever.”

The fierceness in his voice left Cas at a loss, floundering in the sincerity. He couldn’t think of anything else to do other than to do the safe thing and agree, two or three beats too late: “Okay.” 

It didn’t seem to be enough, however, because Dean was already tossing the towel onto a countertop and turning away, jaw tight. “I’m going back to bed,” he said, abruptly short. “My head’s killing me.”

Cas remained seated at Dean’s dining table. Dean walked away, toward his bedroom, his hand white-knuckled on the doorknob. Then he pulled the door shut, stopping just short of closing it completely. A sliver of light crept through the gap. 

Cas had tried not to see the past few minutes through a romantic lens, but regardless, the shut doorway felt like a rejection. His heart ached, and the boulder in his stomach sank a few inches lower. 

It had been going so well. Dean had said _so many things,_ all of them heartfelt and warm and more genuine than Cas had ever expected on today of all days, cleaning up after Dean in the wake of a night’s worth of drinking - but then it all fell like a house of cards at the last second, and now there was a shut doorway and Dean and Cas on opposite sides of it.

_If you think I mind having you around,_ Dean had said, _you haven’t been paying attention._ Cas pressed his palms into his eyes. 

_Come over whenever._

There was a key in Cas’s pocket that Dean had expected him to use “just because,” and Cas had only used it when he had no other choice. Cas had been so careful with Dean, and he’d been proud of himself for that, but maybe he’d been too careful. Maybe _Okay_ was too careful of a reply. Maybe Dean didn’t need careful. Maybe he needed Cas to take a risk.

And maybe that’s why Dean had left his door a little ways open, so Cas could take that risk.

So before he could reconsider, Cas stood and walked to Dean’s door. He didn’t bother knocking before pulling it open.

There was a rush of cold air that stole Cas’s breath away. Dean was at the open window, letting the cold in. He looked toward the door when Cas came in; his jaw was set. At Cas’s confused squint, he shrugged. “Overheated,” he explained. His robe had been tossed over a chair.

Cas walked over to join him at the window. It was near freezing outside, and neither of them were dressed for the cold. Without asking, he shut the window. The sounds of passersby and traffic below were muffled instantly, replaced by the rustle of their clothes as they shifted to accommodate each other.

When Cas stepped away, Dean sat against the windowsill and linked his hands in front of him. His gaze was fixed on the floor in front of him.

Cas dug his nails into his palms. “You’re upset.”

Dean scratched his forehead, wincing slightly. “I’m hungover,” he corrected.

Cas gripped the curtain. Outside, over Dean’s shoulder, he could see his car parked by the curb. Behind it, Dean’s Impala shone even in the winter gloom. It was not uncommon to see the two cars together. Cas marveled that Dean wanted to see it happen more often than it already did.

“Listen, Cas,” Dean said, his face angled to the floor, “I dunno if I’m fucking things up here.” He paused. He took a breath, then another one. “But I just wanted you to know. When I say ‘come over whenever,’ I _mean_ whenever - “

Cas stopped him with a hand to his elbow. “I’ll be here, then.” Dean’s skin was freezing; Cas gripped a little tighter.

Dean dragged his hands over his face. “I mean I want you here _all the time_.” His voice, though muffled, was embarrassed. Shame tinted his tone, and Cas marveled again at how much it must have taken to say everything else he’d already said.

“My answer’s the same,” Cas said, tugging Dean’s hands away from his face, revealing ruddy cheeks and wary green eyes.

Dean gazed somberly back at Cas, his face tilted upward and to the side. His hands, held fast in his lap by Cas’s, were cold. “You don’t get it, Cas.”

Cas was shaking. Fumbling a little bit, frantic, he guided one of Dean’s hands up to his face. Dean’s hands were rough against Cas’s cheek, but it was that roughness - evidence of hard work and love and effort - that Cas had fallen in love with in the first place. He turned to kiss Dean’s palm despite the terror he felt that he might be misunderstanding. Against Dean’s skin, he said, “I get it,” and hoped he wasn’t lying.

He looked at Dean’s face just in time to see quiet awe bloom on Dean’s face, almost in stages: the intake of breath, the bob of his throat, the furrow of his brow, the rising pink in his cheeks, and the slight, astonished widening of his eyes.

Cas dropped his hand from where it covered Dean’s so he could reach forward and touch Dean’s jaw. The other came to rest on Dean’s chest, where Cas could feel Dean’s pulse thrum, even though his shirt. “You want me here? I’ll be here,” Cas repeated. Then he added, “For as long as you want.”

Dean’s hand had landed tentatively on Cas’s ribs, the touch so soft it almost tickled. The other hand was still on Cas’s face, a warm cradle. “What the hell is happening?” Dean breathed, his gaze dancing over Cas’s face as if he’d find an answer there. 

Dean didn’t move, so, heart in his throat, Cas took the risk: stepping forward, angling Dean’s face upward. It was Dean who took the next step, though, pulling Cas in by the back of his neck and letting their lips meet.

The first kiss was soft - just a warm, tentative press of the lips - but the second quickly followed, which turned into the third into the fourth into the fifth. In between kisses, catching their breath, studying each other’s faces from up close, Cas saw the disbelief in Dean’s expression, so Cas just kissed him harder, hauling Dean closer by the shirt. It must have worked in convincing him, because the next time Cas pulled away to see Dean’s reaction, it was spit-slick lips and lust-blown eyes.

Cas’s terror had died away with the first touch of Dean’s lips. Now it was just relief and unfettered joy dancing in his chest, a bird seizing its first chance to fly. Every detail of the moment he tried to memorize: the slight scratch of Dean’s stubble on his palm, the cotton under his other hand that stretched every time he clenched his fingers, the heat of Dean’s kisses, the cold of Dean’s nose, the force of Dean’s breath. 

Eventually Dean managed to stand up. They were within an inch of the same height, but Dean used his slight advantage to pull away, his grip on Cas’s shoulders.

Cas relaxed his hold on Dean’s shirt, frowning when he saw the damage. “Sorry,” he murmured.

Dean looked down at the stretched neckline. He cleared his throat. “You planning on making a habit of that?”

“Which part?”

Dean touched Cas’s face. “All of it.”

“I’d like to,” Cas said, swallowing down the nerves threatening to choke him. “If you’d let me.”

“I gave you a key six months ago before I even thought this could happen,” Dean said. He was smiling. He was so beautiful. “I’d ‘let’ you do anything.”

“Is that what you were hoping when you gave it to me?” Cas was distracted by Dean’s eyes. They were tired, but they were so kind, so green. Fixed on Cas.

“Honestly? Kinda,” Dean admitted. The smile lines around his eyes deepened. “Wanted you to come in the next day and shove me against a door.”

“Sorry for disappointing you,” Cas said, amused. His heart was full.

Dean shrugged, nonchalant, looking over at the bed. “You still got the key. We have time.”

Cas was realizing all at once that all of his stifled daydreams need not be stifled any longer. They didn’t even need to be daydreams any longer, either. He kissed Dean again, just because he could. Then he smiled at Dean’s smile and took Dean’s hand, leading him in his bunny slippers to the bed. “You need to sleep.”

When he looked over his shoulder, Dean was smiling. Silly. Indulgent. Lovesick. 

Cas figured it was probably like looking into a mirror. 


End file.
